My Son's Sitter

“Okay,” Winston says, clearly disappointed.

He only cheers up when both Stevie and I close in for a big squishy hug.

Laughing, we separate.

After Winston’s ran outside ahead, Stevie goes to the bathroom. My mom pauses at the door.

“Clayton?”

There’s a strange look on her face. Something between worry and fear.

“What is it?” I ask.

She strides up to me so that I’m the only one who can hear whatever she’s about to say.

“That babysitter of yours…”

Her expression twists with uncertainty.

“I’m pretty sure that’s Helena’s sister.”

I stare at her, her words banging on the outside of my head. They just don’t compute.

“You’re wrong,” I say quickly, “Helena was estranged from her family. I don’t remember her ever mentioning that she even had a sister.”

But my mom shakes her head with more certainty this time.

“I saw them one time together. I don’t remember when, and I don’t remember where. I just did,” she says firmly.

“You must be mistaken,” I say, more forcefully this time, “Stevie responded to an online ad for a babysitter. I would have known if she was Helena’s sister.”

“I know what I saw,” my mom asserts, her blue eyes narrowing with conviction.

We stare each other down for a few seconds, before my mom makes for the door. She throws a half-hearted smile as she turns away, her pearly blonde curls bobbing more happily than her smile had been.

“See you later.”

“Bye,” is all I say.

I glare at the door for a few seconds before turning away. My mom and her crappy memory. Why did she have to go and intrude on an otherwise good day? I should know as well as anyone that Mom, as well-meaning as she is, has never been the greatest at remembering things. From misremembering my age, to even mixing up my favorite color with my cousin’s, she’s never had a knack for recalling things. And yet, that was something she often admitted freely. Why be so certain now?

I frown. Maybe she sensed the chemistry between Stevie and I and wanted to stop things. Well, she’s too late. Things have already gone much further than they should.

“Hey.”

It’s Stevie. Back from the bathroom. She’s wearing a nice dress, all flowy and peach. She must have changed into after we’d fucked at her place. Something I didn’t notice before.

“So, I don’t really need your services in the nanny department. Sounds like my mom has plans with Winston that will take up most of the day,” I say.

As her face falls, I add, “But I have a better idea.”

She bites her lip, scratching at her neck.

“Oh yeah?”

I would say that Stevie and I are thinking about the exact same things. But we aren’t. At least not completely.

“What do you say about a horse drawn carriage?”

The sultry smile forming on Stevie’s lips dissolves into an uncertain pout.

“You’re joking.”

“Am I?”

Stevie cocks her head at me, and says, more certain this time, “You’re screwing with me.”

“Okay,” I say, making for the door and grabbing my car keys on the way out, “Guess I’ll go on the horse drawn carriage on my own. Since the girl I wanted to take out on a date rejected me.”

I’m at the door, when she calls out, “Clayton!”

“Yes?”

She strides straight ahead a few paces, then pauses in that pushed-out hip position that I love.

“It’s not really fair if you write this girl off before properly asking her.”

Catching her twinkling eye, I smirk.

“Stevie Pierce, would you do me the great and wonderful honor of accompanying me on a horse drawn carriage?” I ask in my best British posh accent, as I get down on one knee.

Stevie bursts out laughing.

“No.”

I gape at her for a minute, before her mouth twitches with telltale mirth.

“Good,” I say, striding up and taking her by the hand.

“There’s just one thing.”

Chapter 6: Stevie

That asshole…

Every few minutes, Clayton sneaks a glance around. Then, once he sees the coast is clear and that the driver isn’t looking our way, he cops a feel of my bra-less breasts over my dress.

No bra. That was his “one thing” request for our horse carriage date. Even with my jean coat closed partway over me, I feel horribly exposed. Being groped every few minutes doesn’t help matters either.

Clayton isn’t making this easy on me. Already I can feel my pleasure between my legs tingling, while his hand rests casually on my thigh. Caressing them every time I forget how horny I am.

The horse-drawn carriage ride itself, is nothing short of magical. The carriage is wood painted blue and gilded with a gold trim. We see the city at just the right pace, rolling by leisurely. There are colorful-awninged storefronts and bustling happy springtime people. A busy city buzzing with productivity. And then there’s us, soaking it all in, drinking in sights like sips of wine.

Clayton lets me enjoy the sights and accompanying silence for a few minutes before he speaks.